


Proverbs

by MeriKG



Series: Threadbare [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a side story for my Threadbare 'verse.  Timeline-wise, I'd put it somewhere between Threadbare and Patchwork.  This is Sebastian's story.  </p>
<p>(The title 'Proverbs' refers to the literary device, not the biblical meaning).  This story will make no sense if you didn't read Patchwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proverbs

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a Sebastian driven fic before. It wouldn't have occurred to me to do so had someone not mentioned in a review that they'd like to read a continuation of his small part from Threadbare. And some lovely individual asked for more Kitten, which gives me all kinds of happy, snuggly feels. I'm curious what you think. Sing out if you have an opinion. Thanks for reading!

The florescent ceiling light blared to life, blinking in a rapid, seizure-inducing pattern. Sebastian rolled onto his back on the mattress, glaring balefully up at the light flashing over his head. He routinely made his owner thousands of dollars in a single night's work. Was it a complete impossibility for the man to invest ten dollars in an alarm clock? 

But the light blinked on, and Sebastian knew he needed to contemplate getting up. Another day, another dollar, as the saying went. But the dollar wasn't for him, was it? He sighed, not the least bit interested in embarking in yet another fun-filled day in the bowels of Thawne Designs. He rubbed his sore eyes when the annoying light finally ceased its damnable flashing. Time had passed more quickly than he'd guessed; the powers that be had decided that putting the thing on a five-minute timer provided sufficient notification that he was to rise and be prepared for collection. Sebastian decided not to bother. Instead, he pillowed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. 

It needed painting, he decided. And while they were at it, they could do the rest of the little room. It shouldn’t cost much more; the entire room was the same shade of cream as the ceiling. Sebastian’s cage was a study in monotony. It was a small, plain room with a mattress that claimed nearly half of the available floor space. The oversized box that had the audacity to consider itself a room was windowless, free of furniture, and lacked decoration of any kind.

Sebastian turned his head to the left, eyeing the four small indentations in the floor next to his mattress. He’d had a nightstand there, once upon a time. It had been a small, wooden thing built with sixteen planks to the front, sixteen to the back, and twenty-two on the right. For some reason the left side consisted of twenty-one. Sebastian never did figure out why. 

For a number of years, the little stand had been the only item deviating from the ‘extreme minimalism’ theme his owner had clearly been channeling when he’d decorated the room. 

Sebastian had smashed the thing several years ago, upon his return from an extended three-day show. Then he'd attempted to cut his wrists with a broken board. Not only had he failed spectacularly to do more than incur some impressive splinters, he’d been heavily punished the next day for damaging his owner’s property. Sebastian had never been clear on whether his master had meant the nightstand or himself. Probably both.

‘The very definition of adding insult to injury’, Sebastian thought to himself with a soft chuckle. If one could consider three jolts with the heavy electric shockers an insult, at any rate. Once he’d regained consciousness, Sebastian had sworn on his knees to his master that he’d never to try it again. Apparently that hadn’t been good enough for the man, and the nightstand had never been replaced. Even now, a good three years later, his room still remained barren of all but the mattress. 

Sebastian’s extensive wardrobe lived in an entirely different room. That room had a plush carpet, a big, curvy couch, and a rather pretty photo of daffodils on the wall. He was almost positive that the walk-in closet alone was bigger than his living space. Sebastian had a love-hate relationship with that room. Pros: it was nice, far nicer than his cage, and provided a much-needed deviation from his regular routine of eat-exercise-eat-bed. Cons: regular visits to the wardrobe room indicated that he’d be used in an upcoming fashion show. Or ‘hell on earth’, as Sebastian liked to think of them.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Once at the show, he’d be dressed immaculately in thousands of dollars worth of whatever apparel was in vogue at the time, and trotted out by his owner to prance like a fancy pony for an ecstatic crowd. And later in the evening he’d be ridden like one. Again and again and again. Sebastian spared another longing glance at the indents in the carpet. He really missed that nightstand.

The sound of a key turning in the lock diverted his attention from the maudlin thoughts, and he looked disinterestedly back up at ceiling. Boredom was a bitch of a mistress, he reflected as the door swung open. His handler for the day yelled something angrily when he saw Sebastian still in bed rather than kneeling at the door as was expected of him. Sebastian ignored whatever drivel the man was growling at him; he was far too busy tracking the little crack he’d just noticed in the paint at the far corner of the ceiling. 

A meaty hand grabbed Sebastian’s collar and yanked him to his feet, dragging him along behind the larger man. He knew far better than to offer even a token resistance to the manhandling and focused on staying on his feet so he wouldn’t be dragged the rest of the way to their destination.

They bypassed his showering room, heading directly to the little linoleum coated corner. The space was fitted with a number of metal eyebolts screwed into the wall at various heights, as well as on the ceiling and floor. Straight to the bad-boy corner for him, it seemed. 

Sebastian’s hands were bound over his head, the rope threaded through the ceiling hook and a moment later he was hoisted up until his toes just reached the ground. Sebastian’s handler yanked at the pajama bottoms, pulling them away and leaving him naked and bound. 

Sebastian wheezed a short, tired laugh. “Finally, something interesting.”  
*******

Sebastian glanced at himself in the mirror, spinning to the left and right. He had to admit, he looked good. No, not good. He looked phenomenal. Not many men filled out a three-piece suit quite as nicely as he. The shirt was a faded rust color, expertly paired with a dark brown coat and pants that accented the shade his skin had been tanned to. As much as he may hate the overbearing, egotistical fop that was his owner, Sebastian reluctantly admitted that the man knew how to design a suit. 

The hotel room he was currently housed in could be any of a thousand for him. They were all the same. Oh, the carefully neutral artwork featured a water color of sailboats rather than some rustic little cabin in a field, or dogs doing something adorable with kids, but really, it was all same thing-different day for him.

He glanced over at the wide couch on the far side of the room. The plush furniture looked extremely comfortable, but he decided against sitting down. The outfit he currently wore was one he’d be modeling the following night and wrinkling it pretty much guaranteed him a severe punishment. With the show a mere day away, they’d have to use the shockers. Even at his most rebellious, Sebastian never deliberately tried anything that he knew might earn him that particular treat.

The door behind him opened and a man walked in, locking it behind him. “You look lovely as always, my dear.”

“Thank you, Master,” Sebastian replied politely. Fuck off and die, Master. “I’m glad I’m able to please.” He managed to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Mostly.

“Uh huh. Turn, face the wall.” Sebastian’s master had owned the slave for years, and he’d learned that punishing every single one of Sebastian’s infractions would only result in an unconscious slave. As long as Sebastian obeyed, most of his quirks went ignored. 

Sebastian did as ordered, assuming position after position as the designer checked the hang and cut of the suit he wore. The man’s phone rang a short while later, and after a cursory glance at the screen he turned abruptly away and left the room. 

“Behave yourself,” he called over his shoulder to the slave. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Sebastian snorted. What the fuck did the man think he’d do left alone for five minutes in a hotel room? Sebastian’s gaze fell on the large TV. Maybe he’d be kept in this room tonight. It happened, sometimes, depending on his owner’s mood and Sebastian’s most recent behavior. 

There were even a few bolts in one corner so his owner could make sure Sebastian stayed put. Sleeping in slave-lock was miserable, but would be so worth it if meant he was able to watch a little television. Sebastian sighed, turning back to the full-length mirror. One more day until hell night. 

His owner returned just a few minutes later, and pronounced Sebastian’s outfit perfect. He’d brought one of his assistants with him, Sebastian noted with mild interest. At the lead designer’s gesture, the man began painstakingly stripping Sebastian and wrapping the suit in plastic.

“Once you’re done with that, take Sebastian out for a walk, will you? He needs some air,” Sebastian’s owner told the assistant absently, attention glued to his I-phone. The man scowled, glaring at Sebastian as if it was his fault, but responded politely enough to his employer. 

The man finished with the outfit, waiting impatiently while Sebastian dressed himself in an elegant pair of slacks and dress shirt. Once Sebastian finished dressing, the man shoved Sebastian face first against the wall just a littler more harshly then Sebastian felt was warranted, even if he had taken his sweet time in getting dressed.

The assistant attached a link onto the leather cuffs the slave wore on either wrist so that Sebastian’s hands were securely bound behind his back. Special rules had been applied for Sebastian whenever he was entered in a fashion show; one of which was that he was never to be taken from his owner’s territory unbound. The man attached a leash to Sebastian’s collar and led him out the door.

“Act out even a little, and you’ll regret it for a month,” he told Sebastian sourly as they walked down the crowded hallway.

Sebastian sneered elegantly. “You won’t do a damn thing, Big guy, and we both know it. Not with a show tomorrow. So be a good little pet-sitter and let me enjoy my walk.”

“One of these days, Sebastian,” the man growled. “People won’t always want to pay for that pretty mouth of yours, and when you’re finally of no interest to anyone, we’ll have a nice, long talk about that cute attitude of yours.”

“I look forward to it,” Sebastian replied absently, already bored with the conversation. Baiting his keepers when there was no risk of retribution was barely worth the effort. His handler yanked hard on the leash, causing Sebastian to stumble forward, fighting to keep to his feet. 

“Fucking amateur,” Sebastian muttered under his breath. Really, that was just petty of the man. 

Several people glanced his way with interest as he was led around. Sebastian was not so naïve as to think this walk had anything to do with his welfare. His owner wanted to make sure it was known that Sebastian was in attendance for this show. His very presence inevitably garnered some attention to his owner’s label, with the bonus of stirring up potential renters for the after party. 

Sebastian stiffened his spine at that cheery thought, glaring around him at the curious faces. He knew he was just feeding the animals, and the smartest thing he could do was keep his eyes to the ground like a good boy, but he just couldn’t. Sebastian might be incredibly intelligent, but no one had ever accused him of being smart.  
***  
He did end up sleeping on the floor next to his owner’s bed that night, but in keeping with Sebastian’s typical luck, the bastard never once turned the TV on. He laid on his back, staring out the giant balcony window, his gaze locked on the bright lights of city that never slept. 

Sebastian had always loved New York. It was his favorite city to show at. People in this down just did not give a shit about other people’s business. The city was full of life, constantly bustling in a way that no other place could compete with. 

Sebastian had been just about everywhere in the U.S. worthy of hosting a major fashion show, and more than a few places in France and Italy. Nothing could compete with the noise, the god-awful smell, and the flat out crazy that was New York City. It was the complete antithesis of his sterile, heavily structured home environment. He stared out the window for a long time, careful not to think about the upcoming night. He’d deal with that as it happened. No, tonight it was just him and the city so good they named it twice.  
****

Sebastian was woken early and escorted down to the elaborate exercise gym that had been dedicated to slave models for the duration of the show. Currently, he lay on his back, lifting the heavy bar over his head, counting each rise and fall carefully. His master would have a fit if he knew Sebastian didn’t have a spotter, but his owner wasn’t here, and his handler didn’t seem inclined to bother, so Sebastian happily worked through his tasks in relative peace. As with any other day, he’d been given an itemized list dictating his exercise plan, and deviating from it by so much as a rep was forbidden. 

The room had been rented to him for two hours, and he’d started his workout just after six. After duly finishing his reps, Sebastian decided to take a short break. He sat up on the bench, stretching his arms high over his head to work out the muscle pains. He glanced up at the wall clock; it was going on eight now. His scheduled time in the workout room was nearly up. Sebastian glanced over at his handler, seeing that the man was fast asleep on one of the workout benches. Well. That had potential. Sebastian looked around the cluttered space curiously, considering options for the most entertaining way to wake the fat bastard up.

Outside of the little room, the hotel had gradually come to life. Sebastian could hear the buzz of distant voices, the only background noise to the otherwise silent room. Nearly silent, anyway, Sebastian amended the thought ruefully as his dozing handler let out a ripping snore.

Despite himself, Sebastian could feel the excitement building within him at the familiar sounds. It wasn’t that he hated the shows themselves. On the contrary, he lived for those few, brilliant moments on the catwalk, when the collar came off and he wasn’t the hot slave guy who’d caused a ruckus all those years ago whose sweet, sweet ass could be yours if the right amount of cash changed hands. 

No, he was something far greater. In that moment he wasn’t a slave at all. He was a man, a confident, sexy man. Catwalk slaves were specifically trained to hide their conditioned behaviors and submissive body language the moment they hit the walkway. After all these years, Sebastian had become a pro at pretending. 

The distant crackle of a speaker being tested interrupted his moment, and he glared irritably at the door. Which was when he noticed them. The keys to the workout room were unobtrusively dangling from the knob. Sebastian glanced back over at the snoring guardsman, a thought slowly percolating in his mind.

No. Not only that, but hell no. The very idea was ridiculous. He should just dump a bucket of ice on the man’s head or something and get on with his life. His eyes landed back on the thick keychain. Even if Sebastian did somehow manage to get past the sleeping handler, where would he go? There was no point in escaping this master; his next would be no better. Better the devil you know, right? At least he had regular access to food and a place to sleep. No, a different owner would be no improvement in his life.

Another loud burst of static from the speakers made him jump, but the guard merely shifted a little in his sleep. A second later the man settled and was soon snoring again. Sebastian remained still, listening as music swelled from above, the song blaring away in the distant ballroom. 

His owner had chosen that tune for him, once. Sebastian even remembered the outfit. Charcoal grey, dove colored tie, and black shoes so shiny he could see his own reflection in the toes. Some backstage crewman had bumped into him and Sebastian had locked him with his bitchiest glare until the man apologized. Sebastian recalled his amusement when the man walked away, muttering about the ‘damn cocky models.’ It had never occurred to the worker that Sebastian was just a slave.

He stared at the keys again. There was nowhere that a slave of his ilk would have it better than in serving his current function. But then again, he wasn’t always a slave, was he? For 5 precious minutes every 8 weeks or so, he wore no collar, and answered to no master. 

And really, what was the worst that could happen to him, anyway? Sebastian thought the matter through. Pro and con the decision, the same as he did any time he was deciding whether or not to act out. 

Cons. Well, he could be discovered as a slave masquerading as a citizen. The penalty for that was immediate euthanasia by injection. It was federal law and no owner could intercede, no matter how rich or influential. Sebastian snorted to himself. That in and of itself wasn’t much of dissuasion for him. There were any number of things Sebastian was afraid of; dying wasn’t on the list.

Okay, that was the worst. So, what was the best possible outcome of succeeding? He’d live the life of a free man, at least until they caught him, and he’d die painlessly. Sebastian could live with that. 

Decision made, he rose to his feet. Now he just had to make it out of the damned hotel without being noticed. If Sebastian managed to get himself caught before he even made it outside, he’d be summarily returned to his owner, presumably for the worst punishment of his life. That thought was a nice bucket of ice water on his plans. 

Still, how was it said? Fortune favored the brave? Or did it punish the foolish? No matter, he had more than his share of both. Sebastian smiled softly, realizing that it was academic, he’d subconsciously chosen the path less travelled the moment he spied the keys in the lock, it had just taken him a few minutes to realize it. He moved as quietly as he could, gliding around aerobic machines, making his way through the dimly lit area to the squat desk in the corner of the workout room. 

A burgundy, hooded tracksuit lay draped over the chair. Sebastian scowled; red really wasn’t his color. No help for it. He stripped himself down to underwear and pulled the slightly smelly suit on, zipping it to his neck. 

Sebastian took a quick glance in the mirror, frowning at the thick leather collar peaking out around the suit’s neckline. He rummaged as quietly as he could through the desk, finally finding a dull box cutter. It would have to do. 

Grimacing, he faced the mirror and began to saw. The leather parted far more readily than he’d anticipated, and before he knew it, the blade had sliced through the last of the collar, the blade nicking him in the neck when the leather gave way. Sebastian watched the ruby drops pool together, running down his neck in a thin line. He decided he liked the outfit’s color, after all. The red suit ensured that no one would see him bleed. Just the way Sebastian liked it.

Sebastian pulled the hood over his head, taking one more cursory glance in the mirror. The tracksuit fit him well enough, the outfit’s monochromatic theme was accented by a thin yellow line that ran in a zigzag pattern down either side. It looked terribly cheesy, and not something he’d be caught dead wearing were circumstances otherwise.

He turned from the mirror and walked purposefully to the locked door. Sebastian turned the keys as quietly as he could, wincing as they jingled faintly together. Though the sleeping mammoth was unlikely to hear the soft metallic clinking if the ruckus outside hadn’t disturbed his slumber.

It was almost anticlimactic how easily Sebastian made his escape from the room. The door opened silently, and it was an easy matter for Sebastian to gently drop the keys into Sleeping Beauty’s pocket as he walked past. Closing the door with exaggerated gentleness, he turned and walked purposefully down the hall. 

The gym that the hotel had devoted to the show slaves lived in a lower level of the hotel, one below the garage. So Sebastian would either need to take the stairs or an elevator up two floors to reach street level. He opted for the stairs, deciding they’d be less crowded and a man running up a stairway in exercise-wear was unlikely to garner much attention.

He followed the helpful, clearly posted signs to the nearest stairwell, fighting to keep his head up and shoulders straight as he walked. Slaves kept their eyes to the ground, their posture curled and submissive. He wasn’t a slave. No, he was Sebastian, God of the Catwalk. He laughed softly at his own foolishness, but felt his other persona come to the fore nonetheless. He moved quickly with a confident stride, gaze up but not making eye contact with the few people he passed on the stairs. None of them seemed to pay him the slightest attention. God, he loved New Yorkers.

Sebastian made it up the stairwell to garage level, and then to the next floor: street level. He took a deep breath, gripped the handle, and opened the door to bedlam.

At least that’s what a major fashion show at 9 am looked like. Hundreds of people filled the corridors, all with their own personal agendas, scurrying around one another in their haste to get to wherever their specific tasks dictated. He tugged the hood more firmly over his head and merged with the crowd.

Sebastian had considered brazenly walking right out the front door, but discarded the idea when he recalled the sheer number of security and assistive personnel assigned to that area. Not only would there be droves of them, they’d all be regulars to the circuit and quite capable of recognizing him. He decided one of the many side exits was his safest bet. 

He pressed his way through the sea of bodies, making sure to knock a few shoulders as he passed by like any good citizen would. A slave model walked past him, guided on a leash. Sebastian shied away. He knew her, and she definitely would know him. But he needn’t have worried, the girl barely looked up from the ground as she walked by. 

Despite himself, Sebastian turned back, watching Marley passively follow her handler. There was nothing he could do about that. He wasn’t even sure he could help himself, much less anyone else. He’d be doing neither of them a favor by trying to interfere. 

Sebastian took a sharp left, veering out of the main concourse into a lightly trafficked hallway. And there, glowing like a holy relic, a brightly glowing red ‘EXIT’ sign was posted over a glass push door at the end of the long hall. This would be about the time to cue the dramatic music, Sebastian decided with a chuckle. 

Sebastian had nearly concluded this was really going be as easy as it seemed when Lady Luck finally decided it was time to screw him firmly in the ass. At least it was a sensation he was well accustomed to. The exit that he’d targeted was actively monitored by security. And unlike his last hapless guardian, this person was wide-awake and looking about alertly.

He’d planned on walking boldly past any guards he ran across, since that system had worked well for him so far. But this was no ordinary, underpaid mouth breather with a Bowflex. Of course not. Because he was Sebastian, and the universe just had to fuck with him. 

Fucking Kitten casually leaned against the wall by the door, her relaxed position deceptive as she alertly scanned the faces and badges of anyone going in or out. Damn it! 

Kitten would absolutely recognize him. Even if she never saw Sebastian’s face inside the hood, she’d read something in his posture, or his body language, or some tiny mannerism he didn’t even know about the minute he approached. And if he turned back to try a different door she’d be sure to notice that even more quickly.

A rock formed in the pit of Sebastian’s stomach. He’d been so close. At least he couldn’t say he didn’t try. Maybe that thought would be enough to keep grounded while his genitals were electrocuted until he passed out from pain. Maybe.

A small group of assistant designers brushed past him where he stood, quickly walking out into the sunlight. And then the hall was quiet. One or two people flowed around him, but Sebastian barely noticed them. A security man brushed past him next, pushing the slave slightly aside in his wake. 

Sebastian recognized that one, too. His owner had hired the man on more than one occasion to work privately for his label. He’d even run ticket sales for Sebastian during an after party once or twice. There was no way the guard wouldn’t recognize him. Sebastian really, really hated Fate sometimes. 

The man sidled up to Kitten, leaning suggestively over the tiny Irish lass while he murmured something in her ear that made her laugh. Nodding along with whatever was being said, Kitten wrapped an arm around the man’s waist; pulling him forward and guiding him down the hall back into the hotel. 

Kitten glanced up as she walked past, her laser sharp gaze landing on Sebastian. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, locked completely in thrall by those kelly-green eyes. One long-lashed eyelid slowly closed once, then she looked away dismissively.

Had the bitch really just winked at him? Kitten guided the other guard right past Sebastian, the man’s attention completely ensnared by the pretty girl at his arm. He never even looked Sebastian’s way as the pair strolled past. 

Feeling suddenly weak, Sebastian leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths. He glanced behind him in time to watch Kitten lead her new friend around the corner, into the hotel’s main halls. There was nothing between Sebastian and the exit now.

He surged forward, walking as fast as he dared down the hall. Someone had taped a small envelope to the glass door roughly at his eye level. The white paper featured a poorly drawn image of a cat face, and one of those little speaking balloons with the word ‘meow’ written inside with purple ink. 

Sebastian yanked the envelop off as he walked past, stuffing it into a pocket as he shoved the door open and walked out into the world. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, immediately enveloped by the sounds and chaos that was a busy New York street. It had really happened, Sebastian was out. 

“Get out of the damned way if you aren’t gonna walk, you freaking tourist!” A sharply dressed woman in impossibly high heels yelled at him as she brushed past, her arms laden with shopping bags.

“Piss off,” Sebastian yelled back, pleased when she flipped him the bird. He buried his hands in the pockets of the tracksuit and began walking. He didn’t particularly care where he went, as long as it was away from the hotel. 

A designer capable of identifying Sebastian at the carnal level walked up the street, heading directly towards him. Sebastian hastily hailed a taxi, swiftly hopping in when the car pulled up to the curb beside him. The designer never noticed him as he disappeared into hotel entrance.

“Where do you want to go, buddy?” The taxi driver asked disinterestedly. He didn’t bother to turn around to face Sebastian. Instead he fiddled with his mileage meter, setting it back to zero. 

“Umm, Time Square?” Sebastian asked, choosing a place blindly. The man grunted in agreement, then flipped on his turn signal half a second before he merged into traffic. 

Sebastian slid down in the seat. He’d done it. He’d left his master, his life; everything he knew was gone, disappearing in a grey cloud of exhaust fumes. Sebastian was officially a runaway slave. Without really noticing, he started laughing, and once the floodgate opened, he just couldn’t seem to stop. So he didn’t try. He sat in the back of a taxi he had no idea how he’d pay for and laughed until tears ran down his face. Maybe the cab driver would accept the oldest form of payment. Sebastian was oddly eager to ply his skills in a situation where he’d actually receive recompense for his labor. No matter, he’d deal with it later.

The cab driver didn’t so much as glance Sebastian’s way as he drove, clearly unconcerned with having a hysterical passenger in his backseat. Once he’d calmed down a little, Sebastian reached his hands into the tracksuit, patting the various pockets. Maybe he’d find a few dollars that he might not have noticed earlier amid all the excitement. Instead, his questing fingers found the little cat envelope he’d hastily pulled off the door on his way out.

Curious, Sebastian opened it, extracting a thin slip of paper with the hotel's logo neatly printed atop. The thin sheet had that bumpy, irregular texture that paper sometimes took on when pressed against a wall for support. The message on the page was brief; a quick sentence hastily scrawled in the same purple pen, with no regard for staying within the lines.

Congratulations on that cast iron set of balls you’ve grown.

XO,  
-Kitten 

A thin pile of irregularly folded green notes tumbled out and fell into his lap when he opened the note. Sebastian stared down at the clump of bills, dumbfounded. The shock only lasted a moment before he swept up the money, counting swiftly. $500 in twenties. Staring at the fistful of money, he started to laugh again; it was either that or cry as sheer, bone-numbing relief filled him to his core. Well, no blowjob for the cab driver, Sebastian thought with a chuckle. Sad for that guy.

It was funny how Kitten’s thoughts echoed his own from that very first moment, when a set of keys absently left in a lock had set him out on this new path, Sebastian mused. Even if she did phrase it a little differently. 

Fortune favored the brave.


End file.
